


Mister Sandman

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Avenged Sevenfold, Papa Roach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-21
Updated: 2009-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bring me a dream, make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen.  Give him two lips like roses and clover, then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mister Sandman

 It’s late, and I’m not sure why I’m still up at four in the morning, but I need a breath of fresh air and opening the windows is no option seeing as it’s pouring.  I sigh and head out of my apartment, close the door behind me softly, and proceed down the long winding staircase.  I’m not really a fan of elevators, and I need the walk to think anyway, so I don’t mind.

 

Upon opening the door to the outside, I sigh and huddle closer in my jacket, looking up at the dark sky.  There’s no stars tonight, only formidable clouds and the occasional strike of lightning.  It’s a brutal night, one of the worst in Orange County, but we’ve seen worse.

 

I wrinkle my nose slightly, furrowing into my jacket with a shiver, tattooed and muscled arms crossed tightly over my sculpted chest.  I’m beyond tired, but I haven’t been able to sleep well lately and my imaginative thoughts about the Dunks cashier aren’t helping.

 

My eyes move away from the sky and fall to the street, ghosting over the shaking tree and onto the pavement where a huddled figure lies.  Cocking my head to the side, I peek out from my shelter and my brows come together as the streetlight flickers poorly.

 

Whatever it is, it’s not moving, and it could entirely be trash.  But, as always, my curiosity gets the better of me and I quickly hurry down the worn steps and over to the heap.  A pale hand, fingers doused in tattoos, is bare to the wind and rain while wet black hair falls over a tired, bruised face, thin lips a sickly color.

 

My protective instincts instantaneously kick in and I kneel down next to the young man, pulling off my jacket and draping it over him.  My hands reach his shoulders and I shake him lightly, my own body reacting to the sudden cold with a violent shiver.  He doesn’t budge after many attempts to wake him, so I toss all logical intuition to the wind and lift him in my arms, surprised at his lightness.

 

Once inside, I look around, contemplating my next move.  I could very well remove his wet clothes and set them to dry, but then he may file me as a pervert or something to the cops.  I sigh as he shakes a little in my arms, and, as I look down, he turns into me, coughing violently.  I squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath, and head for my bedroom.

 

After setting him down, I go to gather clothes for him before returning and carefully removing articles of sopping wet clothes.  He hardly moves, even when I redress him, lift him again, snuggle him under the covers, and leave to put his clothes in the dryer downstairs.

 

\--

 

I inhale sharply and stretch a little, sore muscles groaning against the effort.  A similar noise falls past my lips and I whimper a little, curling on my side.  My arms go around my stomach and I bury my head in the pillow, a shake running through me, entirely involuntarily, but thankfully not because of the cold.  In fact, I’m happily warm.

 

I let my eyes open to the room around me, to the soft pillow underneath my head, to the blankets tucked nicely around my shoulders, and to the soft, warm, and foreign clothes on my body.  I feel for my bruises just to make sure this isn’t a dream and frown when it still hurts to touch them.

 

“Oh,” a voice interrupts my train of thought and my eyes widen at the man standing halfway through the doorway, “You’re awake.”

 

He looks entirely nervous, and I can’t help it as my eyes travel over his body, and I lick my lips to remoisten them.

 

“I know what you must be thinking,” he says, walking over and setting a mug down next to me, “But you were nearing hypothermia or the likes.  I made you cocoa,” he finishes, motioning toward the white mug, “If you’re freaked out,” he continues, “feel obliged to leave.  I just wouldn’t have been able to deal with my conscience if I left you lying out there.”

 

“Out where?” I ask, and my voice is scratchy from lack of use.

 

“Outside,” he says, looking a little confused, “You were passed out on the sidewalk.  Well, technically, you were mostly on the street, but whatever.  Here, drink it, I promise I didn’t spit in it or anything.”

 

“No cyanide, either?” I query, smiling a little as I sit up and take the hot mug in my hands, sighing as it warms my stilly chilly fingers.

 

As I sip, he studies me briefly before carefully sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

“Your clothes are downstairs drying.  I’m sorry, but they were soaking you to the bone.”

 

“It’s fine,” I murmur, not meeting his fiery gaze.  He has eyes that seep right into your soul, a strange hazel, and I’m afraid to let him see inside me.

 

A sudden mewl breaks the tense moment, and I look up as a small cat launches onto the bed, slips past the man with a slight nudge of the head and an affectionate purr, and settles in front of me, sniffing at my mug.  I can’t help the laugh that slips through my defenses when she rubs her nose against my fingers and meows again.

 

“Sorry,” the man says, going to remove her, and when I frown, he stops, “You like cats?”

 

“I love them.  What’s her name?”

 

“Molly.  She’s a stray.”

 

“Seems you have a habit,” I murmur, and he laughs and nods.

 

“Seems so,” he responds, sighing, “My name is Matt, by the way.”

 

“Jacoby,” I return, looking up at him and letting my blue eyes settle with his startling hazel ones for a few moments before turning them back to Molly.

 

“May I query upon why you were on the street?”

 

“I ran away.  I tried to leave when I was eighteen, when it should have been okay, but my dad beat me into staying.  This is the first time I’ve gotten far enough away that he won’t be able to find me.”

 

“Where were you before?”

 

“Nevada.”

 

“ _Nevada_?” he repeats, shocked.

 

“Mhm.  You can stop looking so guilty about staring at me.  I’m not eighteen anymore.”

 

“Oh,” he coughs, immediately looking away, “How old are you, then?”

 

“Twenty.  And you’re…”

 

“Twenty-five.  How do you feel, by the way?”

 

“Sore, but that’s a given.”

 

“I have a remedy for that.”

 

“Do you now?” I laugh, smiling.

 

“I’ll be right back.  There’s soup ready, too, if you want some.  It’s in the kitchen.”

 

“He’s just damn perfect, isn’t he?” I coo to Molly once Matt leaves.

 

I sigh when she curls up in my lap, and I sit there for a few minutes before setting my mug aside, lifting her in my arms, and heading out of the bedroom, bare feet slapping the floor lightly.  I find the soup without fail, sniff at it lightly, and smile at the familiar smell of Ramen before lifting some into the bowl sitting on the counter.

 

“I have two questions,” Matt abruptly says, and I turn slowly, twirling a few strands of noodles on a fork.

 

“Yes?” I press with an arched eyebrow before taking in the steaming food.

 

“Are you gay?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Am I hot?”

 

I almost snort at this question, and I have to put down the bowl as I cough and laugh, shaking my head.

 

“Of course you are,” I finally respond, and his eyes go wide, “Do I get two, now?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Are you planning on giving me that tube of whatever cream it is or will you be putting it on me?”

 

“I was thinking the latter.”

 

“Can I like you, please?”

 

“Only if I can like you.”

 

“Alright, I think we have a deal.”

 

Matt smiles and crosses the room to me, and Molly brushes against our legs as he takes one of my hands.  He won’t make the first move, I can already tell, and he’s done so much for me in such a short time anyway, so I lean across the small distance and fit my lips to his, fiery passion exploding in my stomach…


End file.
